Vouzles Vous Coucher Avec Moi Ce Soir?
by Chiara Alice Vargas
Summary: Francis is summoned to the bar by a drunk Englishman, and he is forced to be the one to take him home yet again lest he leave Arthur to lay in the bar, wasted and pissed. Arthur uses a really lame French pick-up line, how can Francis resist? But maybe it's just a bit too much... I have done the impossible! I have written a FrUK fanfic! /gasp FrUK, Rated M, one-shot.


**Voulez-vous Coucher Avec Moi Ce Soir? (Will You Sleep With Me Tonight)**  
**A FrUK fanfic**  
**Rated M for language and mature themes (almost-smut, I guess?)**  
**Warnings: **Drunk!Arthur. Yup. I just did. One-sided FrUK. Oh, and implied/mentioned USUK.  
**By Galgenhumor (FF) / cl41r3 (Tumblr)**

_{ A/N: So, if you've been like, reading most, if not all of my stories, you'd find that all of them are USUK. This is the first time I have published a story with another pairing. I hope I didn't murder the story or anything because I honestly can't write FrUK for shit. }_

* * *

A quiet evening in London, England was spent by one certain Englishman in a pub. The blonde man swirled his glass, filled with rum and three cubes of ice. He seemed to be lost in thought.

It was already around nine in the evening, and he went out drinking alone. He later realised that drinking alone was boring so he called over his 'friend', Francis.

Why Francis? Even Arthur himself was a bit puzzled by it. They did nothing but bicker and argue, and they didn't exactly get along. He could have called somebody else, but the first person that came to mind was the bloody frog. Not that he would admit it out loud, obviously.

He sighed. It's been an hour since he called Francis over to the pub to join him in his little drinking night. He still hasn't shown up. The last text he got was him saying he's already on his way.

"Another bottle, please." Arthur sighed and turned to the bartender, who looked at him funny. Why?

Oh, yeah, it was his second bottle.

Arthur was drunk, yes, but he could still think straight. It's true that he can't really "hold his locker well", but a mere bottle won't knock him out. The bartender placed another bottle of rum on the marble countertop before he took Arthur's glass to replace the ice.

The refilled glass was placed back in front of him, and Arthur poured more rum for himself. He took a sip, savouring the liquor.

The front door's bell made a little clinking sound as someone walked in. The pub wasn't that crowded tonight. In fact, it was just Arthur, a balding guy in his mid-thirties, and three female young adults in the far corner. The newcomer walked towards Arthur, the sound of his designer shoes clunking on the hardwood floor. He sat down, and immediately greeted him with this: "Mon Dieu, Arthur, how long have you drinking?" he crinkled his nose. Arthur smelled strongly of alcohol, and cigarettes (smoking was allowed inside). It was highly overwhelming.

Arthur turned to the man seated next to him, a scowl deeply set on his face. "Finally!" he said with sarcastic excitement. "I haven't been drinking for too long." he shrugged nonchalantly, but it wasn't convincing enough.

"I got caught up in traffic!" the other blonde said defensively. Francis and Arthur were opposites: Arthur looked younger, but he acted like an old man, while Francis looked older (or maybe it was because of the beard? Arthur doesn't know what Francis looks like without that trademark beard of his), but he acted more carefree, willing to get out there and enjoy life, even if by "enjoy", something else was implied.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Arthur waved it off, as Francis ordered his drink. He ordered red wine. He wasn't much of a heavy drinker, so he rarely got drunk. He usually goes out for drinks, but he usually just left the pub tipsy, not drunk.

"Why did you call me here for, anyway?" Francis asked a bit irritably. He doesn't really put up with drunk Arthur pretty well.

"I just needed someone to drink with," he looked into his glass, the rum in it was already consumed and it needed to be refilled again. "I didn't want to look all lonely and alone while I was drinking."

Francis smirked, "Ah, so, you want me to look like your 'boyfriend' of sorts so that you wouldn't look like a loner, is that it?" he teased the drunker one.

"What? It's not like that, is there anything wrong with being drinking buddies?" he slurred angrily, scowling at the Frenchman.

Francis scoffed and rolled his eyes, a light smile still plastered to his face. "Whatever you say, _mon cher_. You don't need to be all defensive about it."

"Don't call me that!" he exclaimed, overreacting. "I know what that means, and I detest being called that way!"

"You're a real charmer, Arthur." was all Francis said, smiling at him. Arthur hated it, that smug smile of his. He wanted to reach out, rip it off his face and throw it to the ground to stomp on it. If only it was possible...

"Well, why did you come here anyway?" Francis asked him seriously. If Arthur won't tell him why he was summoned here, then he would just have to find out why Arthur was here in the first place.

"Alfred and I had a fight." he answered, looking all depressed. Francis raised a well-shaped brow. Really? A fight?

"But you and Alfred fight all the time. How is this any different?" he asked in a very puzzled manner. He didn't see the point in this at all.

"It's worse... He... He won't talk to me... He's so fucking stubborn..." Arthur choked out. A lump in his throat made it hard for him to speak. He was so close to crying.

Alfred and Arthur have been going out for years. Whenever they fought, which was almost all the time, Arthur usually won. Alfred usually apologised. It usually lasted for a day. This... this isn't the usual. They haven't talked for days, and neither would admit to being in the wrong. It was mostly Arthur's stubborn pride that made them last this long. If only Arthur had apologised sooner, everything would be okay now. Arthur usually won, and he didn't want to be the one to admit defeat this time, even when the fault was so clearly his.

"...Maybe you're the one being stubborn." Francis frowned at him, sipping a bit from his wine glass. Arthur didn't answer. Instead, he said, "He told me that I hurt his feelings whenever I call him names, and that maybe I should think about what he's feeling, instead of just myself." he licked his dry lips, wondering.

"Mm, well, you do tend to take things those things a bit too far." Francis nodded.

"Oh, side with him, why don't you?" he snarled, shaking his head. "Whatever." he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his trousers' pocket and lit one. He puffed a smoke, sighing.

"I'm such a failure sometimes."

"Jeez, just apologise so you two can get it over with and get back to fucking each other like you used to." Francis chuckled, the comment earning him a whack on the back of his head.

"Fuck off."

"You meant, fuck me."

He flicked him the dirty finger, to which Francis only raised a brow at. He was too used to it to care.

A couple more drinks later, Arthur's head slumped over the hard counter top, groaning to himself.

"I ha'e y' all... Y're a' jus' a bunch o' lousy, good-for-nothin', wankers... Go die in th' fiery pits o' Hell..." he slurred, his voice slightly muffled by his cheek which was pressed onto the counter.

Francis looked at him, amused. He felt light-headed; tipsy from the few glasses of wine, but it was nowhere near Arthur's current state.

"A... Alfred, I bet y' go aroun' sleepin' wit' those o'her girls... I see th' way those ladies look at y'... Y' think I would no' notice, eh? Well, I say... Fuck y'... Yeah... Fuck y' nice and haaaard. Ehehe." he was a total mess, both in appearances and in the head. He laughed in this weird manner at his own joke.

Francis knew this was the line.

He turned to the bartender and paid for both of their tabs, Arthur's costing almost twice as his. He had consumed almost two bottles already, whereas Francis was just nearing the last quarter of his.

"All right, Arthur. We're going home. Come on." he emptied his wine and placed the glass on the counter with a slight edge. He'd done this so many times that it tired him now. This is why he hated going out drinking with Arthur. You'd think after doing this for him for almost centuries now, he'd learnt his lesson, but no, he didn't.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and nudged Arthur, who had fallen into a light sleep.

"Eh? Wha'?" he blearily said, looking at Francis with hazy eyes. His shirt was crumpled and his tie was loose. The immaculately pressed coat he wore a while ago just carelessly hung over his shoulders.

"I'll drive you home. Come on, you've had enough." Francis said a bit sternly. Damn, he really didn't want to deal with this pissed Brit. He stood up, looking down at Arthur and waited for him to stand up as well.

"Mm... 'kay." Arthur smiled at him goofily and stood up with shaky knees, wobbling a bit before lurching forward, instinctively gripping onto Francis' shoulder to avoid falling into his arms all the way.

Francis grumbled a bit and slung the other's arm across his shoulders. He didn't notice that Arthur took the rum with him. There was only one-fourth of the liquor left. He helped Arthur go outside and into his car, closing the door after him before seating himself on the opposite side.

Arthur looked at his hand and at the bottle he was holding. He laughed for a second and took a swig out of it. Francis noticed and looked at him, appalled

"You took that with you? T'es vraiment trop con..." he said exasperatedly. He can handle just so much of babysitting drunk Arthur in their entire "friendship".

"Wha'? I don' wan' i' t' be a waste!" he said defensively, shaking the bottle under Francis' nose, the strong smell assailing his nostrils. He gently pushed it back towards him. "I'd rather not be charged of DUI, thank you very much."

"Does i' even ma'er? Y' drank wine, anyway." Arthur rolled his eyes skeptically.

"Well, at least I'm not as pissed as you are." he pushed the pedal of his (gorgeous) car, the engine sounding and the vehicle starting to move forward. Both of them kept awfully quiet during the trip, Francis thought Arthur had already fallen asleep. All he could hope for was that the drunk Briton would not drool all over his car.

Francis pulled over in front of Arthur's house, stopping the car. To his surprise, Arthur kept awake during the whole trip. He pulled his cuff up and glanced at his watch. It was a quarter past midnight.

"Do I still have to throw your ass inside your house, or can I just leave you out here in the yard to rot in your stinky drunkenness?" he asked sarcastically. Of course, he would still have to put Arthur inside his house and safely tuck him into his bed like always, but he couldn't resist asking.

Arthur turned to him, a thinking expression on his face. "Hey, Francis?" he seemed to have a clearer mind right now, since his words were not so slurred, but his eyes still looked unfocused and hazy. He's probably still drunk.

"What is it." it was more of a statement than a question, though.

"I learned a French pick-up line." he grinned at him weirdly.

"Hm. Let me hear it, then."

"Voo-lay-voo-coo-shay-ave-mwah se-swa?" he pronounced it by syllable, and very slowly. Slow enough that you would think it's some oddly long French word rather than a sentence. Francis did not seem the least bit impressed.

"How dare you do that to my language? It's '_Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir_'," he pronounced it fluidly and fluently, the opposite of how Arthur had done so, "and it's like, a really lame pick-up line. It's guaranteed 99.99% failure." he continued, facepalming.

"Oh. Well, you know what that means, right?" Arthur leaned towards him, lightly touching the Frenchman's shirt.

"Arthur, you... You're clearly drunk." Of course he knew what it meant. He wants to sleep with him, that's what it meant. Although in this case, he wants to throw him a pity fuck.

"Mhm. So is that an '_oui_' or a '_non_'?" he disregarded what Francis just said, asking him something else instead.

"I... I don't know." he cleared his throat and looked away for a moment. It's not like this is the first time they've done this... but he doesn't want to take advantage of Arthur, especially when he's under the influence of alcohol.

"Upstairs, my bedroom, now, _Monsieur Bonnefoy_." Arthur growled at him, clearly impatient.

Francis couldn't resist; Arthur never, ever spoke to him in French for as long as he could help it. He would never be able to live this shameful moment down if he was sober. Arthur could be such a devil sometimes...

Francis got out of the car, and went towards Arthur's side, opening his door. He picked him up, slamming the car door before pressing the car-alarm activation button thing. Arthur tried his best to fish for his keys in his pocket without moving too much.

"Here." he handed the keys to Francis for him to open the door.

He was lucky Arthur was pretty light, or else he probably would have dropped him on the sidewalk and driven away. He (carrying Arthur all the while) went inside and closed the door behind him, locking it. He carried him upstairs to his room, placing him on the centre of the bed, lying down on his back. After so many visits to this house, he knew and memorised everything about it like it was the back of his hand. He could probably even do this blindfolded.

He leaned down, pinning him to the bed, and started kissing his jawline, then down Arthur's neck, on his collarbone, his hands on the other's hips, while Arthur had his on Francis' back.

"I'll take that as an '_oui_'." Arthur smiled, closing his eyes, letting Francis lead.

Francis felt like he was the biggest douchebag ever. He knew Arthur was in a relationship with someone else, and technically, they were still together. Why did he let Arthur seduce him like this? Normally, he wouldn't really have minded given these kinda of circumstances, but he cared about Arthur and he didn't want this to happen. He won't let this get out of hand.

Arthur was already slipping his hand up Francis' shirt, until Francis stopped kissing and placed a hand on the other's on his back. He gently removed it and let it fall to Arthur's side, sighing disappointedly.

"I'm sorry, Arthur, but I can't do this." he shook his head and sat up, making Arthur all confused.

Arthur sat up as well, blinking.

"It's just that... I know you wouldn't have wanted this if your head was completely straight right now." he sighed, gripping Arthur's shoulders gently. "Arthur, you're drunk and you don't fully know what you're doing... I don't want to do this unless you're actually sober."

Arthur gave a short nod. "I'm sorry."

"Go to sleep now." Francis said, stepping off the bed. Arthur took hold of his wrist.

"Francis... _Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir_? I mean it literally." he looked down at his lap. "Please... just... just stay here for tonight. Don't leave me." he gulped, waiting for an answer.

Francis gave in. "All right... Just for tonight. Don't flirt with me or I'll tell everyone you spoke to me in flirtatious French." he threatened, before climbing back onto the bed.

"Thanks..." he lied down, smiling a bit before drifting off to sleep. Francis stared at Arthur, his facial features, his hair... He memorised all of it. He's been with Arthur so many times to remember.

Maybe he would have continued if he didn't actually care. He's that kind of person, right? He can't really turn down someone asking for a pity fuck, but he just couldn't give in when it's Arthur. Morals told him that it's not right to take advantage of intoxicated people, and his heart told him it's not right to take advantage of the one he loves when he's drunk.

He loves Arthur, but he knows he'll never love him back. He knows there's always someone who he'll love and put first before him, and he's pretty much accepted that fact. He's the one who's always stuck in second place. The runner-up, consolation prize. He cares about him, that's why he turned him down. He didn't want Arthur to regret this and be unhappy afterwards. if you do love someone, maybe sometimes you really do have to let go.

"I hate you." he sighed, the words without any bite to them. He gently swept Arthur's bangs from his eyes. He looked innocent when he's sleeping. He kinda liked it better than when he's awake and snarling at him.

* * *

The sunshine filtered through the thin curtains fell upon Arthur's face. He stirred awake, feeling the hangover coming. He turned to his side when he saw something from the corner of his eye.

"What the―" he sat up and started angrily, shaking Francis awake.

"Wha―?" he blearily answered, opening his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, incredulous.

"You asked me to sleep with you." Francis looked kinda deadpan, but Arthur was so sure that he was just kidding.

"I... I would never ask that of you! Not in a million years!" he answered back defiantly.

"Well, you did last night. You won't remember, though. You were really drunk." Francis sat up, running a hand through his bedhead. His hair was still soft and shiny, despite coming from a rough night.

"...Did anything happen?" he looked absolutely horrified. What if Alfred found out? Oh God, please no.

"I'm wearing all my clothes and you're wearing yours. I took the liberty of _not_changing you into your pyjamas last night. Be grateful." Francis grumbled, the conversation starting to annoying him.

Arthur fell back onto his pillow looking stunned. "Really? Did anything else happen?"

"No. Unless you count that time from last night where you seduced me with lame French pick-up lines." This seemed to have scared Arthur. He swore to himself that he would never, ever be caught speaking French, most especially by this frog.

"Shut the fuck up." he said, but it didn't hold the venom and the bite it was supposed to.

"It's all true, all right? I wish I had a camera with me, watching that would be so hilarious." he grinned. "You better be thankful I didn't proceed to fuck you, though, even if you asked me to. I knew you would regret it the next morning."

Arthur started to believe him now. "I want to die, oh God." he felt nausea rising up his throat. "You're not going to tell anyone, right? Especially not Alfred. If you do, I swear I... I..." he trembled, looking at him wildly.

"'I'll hunt you down and cut you up into tiny little pieces starting with your dick, then I'll burn it in front of you while cackling madly as I watch you suffer' I know, I know, the usual threat." he waved it off, rolling his eyes. It didn't sound that threatening now that he's heard it a thousand times. Arthur would never pull through with the threat anyway. "I won't say a word. It's for both our sakes, anyway."

"I'm glad you're aware." he glared daggers at him.

Francis got off the bed, fixing his shirt and tie. "Which reminds me, you better apologise to him."

"But I―"

"No. Apologise." he looked at him sternly. "Alfred really loves you and I know you love him back; I don't want you two in these kinds of conditions just because of a petty fight. Swallow your fucking pride." he glared back. He was serious. He knows these things. Besides, he's pretty much decided that he wants Arthur to be happy, even if it's not with him.

"I... I'll go do that." Arthur nodded, smiling weakly.

"Good. By the way, you owe me money again, I paid for your tab last night." he chuckled, putting on his coat.

"Fuck you."

"Mhm,_ je'taime_, Arthur." he snickered, earning him an extremely murderous glare from Arthur. Oh, how he hated Francis when he used those French words on him! Arthur sat on the bed, seething, as Francis left the room, smirking smugly to himself at the smaller man's reaction. The way Arthur seemed to hate him a thousand times more when he said things in French.

_Je'taime, Arthur._

He meant that, though. He really did.

Too bad Arthur'll never find out.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Bah, what genre is this even supposed to be? I can only label it under 2 genres. I guess it would kinda fall under hurt/comfort, friendship and romance? But I am not sure if it's hurt/comfort or angst...

Anyway, I have never written another pairing besides USUK until the end and publish it. If this sucks and if it seemed kinda OOC, you know why now. I HAVE WRITTEN FRUK. I HAVE DONE THE IMPOSSIBLE.

I hope I didn't make France sound too weird and I hope I didn't make England sound really stupid or whatever. I JUST HOPE IT DIDN'T SUCK IN GENERAL.

Urgh, what is story consistency?

Anyway, I just did this to take a break from Smokes and Punk Clothes, which I will be returning to now. I have a headache so... I'll be going for now. Man, this resort room is so freaking cold...

Oh, by the way, if you're wondering, the title and the story were largely inspired by the song Lady Marmalade by Christina Aguilera, Pink, Mya, Li'l Kim and Missy Elliott. I'm getting too addicted to that song, lately.

See ya guys on Chapter 4 of S&PC / the next one-shot! eue


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